


we have made mistakes (but we've learned from them)

by AdmirableMonster (Mertiya)



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Cousin Incest, Dirty Talk, Jealousy, Light BDSM, M/M, Maglor is a brat, Multi, Poor Life Choices, Rescue Missions, Sibling Incest, Spanking, Temporary Character Death, fingon is a dom, irmo is a bro, mae is a switch, namo is uhhhhh not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:54:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28762134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya/pseuds/AdmirableMonster
Summary: Since the Years of the Trees, Maglor has been jealous of Maedhros and Fingon, though he knows he shouldn't be.  After Finno dies, he'll be there to comfort his brother, although he knows he is only a replacement for the Elf his brother longs for.Maglor, Maedhros, and Fingon navigate trauma, death, and love, through several ages of the world.  Trust Elves to take millennia to resolve communication difficulties.
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo, Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo/Maglor | Makalaurë, Fingon | Findekáno/Maglor | Makalaurë, Maedhros | Maitimo/Maglor | Makalaurë
Comments: 28
Kudos: 27
Collections: 2021 My Slashy Valentine





	1. all the doubts i've faced, i continue to face them

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mangacrack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangacrack/gifts).



> Particular thanks to moiety and daphnerunning for letting me throw excerpts and scream at them, as well as for beta-ing my idiot ass. Title (and chapter titles) from “I Have Made Mistakes” by the Oh Hellos

_Years of the Trees._

The tenth time Makalaurë struck a wrong note in his own newly-composed ballad, he had to try very hard not to fling the harp across the room.He did bring his hand heavily down on it in a waterfall of discordant notes.It was a lovely ballad, and he wanted to share it with Maitimo, and Maitimo was spending time with Findekáno. _Again_.

It was not that he begrudged his older brother the close friendship that he shared with Nolofinwë’s son.He paused, setting the harp down carefully and drawing his knees into his chest.No, that was not true.It was exactly that.It was simply that he _shouldn’t_.Or should he?

Makalaurë got to his feet, pacing back and forth across the chamber.Their father, he knew, would not be pleased, if he realized how much time his eldest son was spending with Nolofinwë’s.And Makalaurë, although he teased Maitimo at times, did truly love his older brother, but he felt ill-used and ill-at-ease for some reason he could not identify.It was probably because being the only other brother of age and therefore the one most confided in, he had become the one Maitimo always looked to as a cover for when he was stealing time together.Yes.Surely that was it.

Well, he could at the very least go to Maitimo and _ask_ when he might have time to kindly grace his younger brother with his presence once more.Heaving an irritated breath, he got to his feet and headed in the direction of Maitimo’s bedroom.

The door was locked when he arrived, and Makalaurë rolled his eyes.How like Maitimo.Their father wasn’t even home today—he was out at some conference on the properties of metallurgy, which Makalaurë found dull and boring—not that he was going to confess that to anyone, he did have _some_ sense of self-preservation—but Maitimo was so terribly paranoid about anyone realizing he and Finno were any closer than acquaintances.Well, fine.Makalaurë was not the stubborn brother, but he could _be_ stubborn when he wanted to be.

He ran lightly back along the corridor towards his room, passing Moryo on the way.His younger brother looked up; Makalaurë gave him a light laugh and a little wave.“A lovely day, isn’t it?” he said inanely.Moryo rolled his eyes and went back to his notebook.Good.

It had been years since he had done this.When he had been about half-grown, his father and mother decided that he was old enough to have his own room and had presented him with it, expecting him to be delighted.Knowing he was intended to be, Makalaurë had made every expression of excitement, despite the trepidation that swelled tightly within his stomach.Surely, he was old enough to be independent.Surely, he would not have those dreams any longer, the ones where he was trapped in darkness, quite alone, with only the sound of sea waves and the wailing of sea-gulls to accompany him.It was not so much the content of the dreams but the all-encompassing sense of a desperate lonely grief—of being the only person left in an empty world—that always drove him to sob until he woke up crying.Maitimo would rub his back until the feeling passed, and he would be able to sleep again.

Of course, the dreams had not gone away.For a week, he had refused to sleep at all.Nerdanel had commented on how many candles he had gone through, but apart from that had not seemed to notice.On the seventh day as the trees’ light mingled, Maitimo had appeared in his room as he was lighting the candle, sighed, and gestured to him.“Come here, Káno,” he said kindly, going over to the window.“Do you see this tree?”He pointed to a thick oak tree whose branches were nestled up tightly against the window.

“Yes?” Makalaurë followed him in some confusion, yawning sleepily. 

“Do you see how broad the branches are?”

Another nod.

“It’s very easy to climb,” Maitimo said patiently.“And the other branches end right up against the window of my bedroom.”

He did not give the offer outright; he did not have to.And simply the ability, when he woke in the grasp of the strange sea-loneliness, to clamber, trembling, out of his bedroom window and over to his brother’s, was enough to keep it back most times.He slept again.Their parents didn’t have to know.

Now it was not that he had woken from a bad dream, and he felt a little guilty at what he purposed to do, but only a little.He clambered with an ease born of long practice out and onto the branches, scooted along one and leapt lightly over to the next—perhaps showing off a little in his head, although there was no one to show off to—and paused, crouching on the sill of his older brother’s room and peering inside.

He had expected to see his brother and his cousin sitting across from one another, perhaps caught in one of their more intense conversations.But there was no one at the side of the room where the little armchair and ottoman were set in front of a cheerfully-blazing fire.Makalaurë’s eyes flickered to the bed automatically, and he froze, almost falling off the branch.

Nelyo was on his back on the bed, with Finno on top of him.They had flung a blanket over themselves, but it seemed to have been partially dislodged, because he could see all of Finno’s slender, muscled back all the way down to—further than Makalaurë had ever really considered on his cousin before.And he could see his brother’s paler skin beneath, his limbs twined and entwined with Findekáno’s, his long red hair spilling across the pillow and over, down, off the bed entirely.His head was tipped back, and his face—

Makalaurë had never seen his brother look like that.His cousin’s expression was more familiar, in a surreal kind of way, flushed and laughing and joyful, the same expression he made when he raced Tyelkormo down the path, or tussled with Curufinwë, or climbed a tree—except that now the full force of all of that joy and bliss was directed at Makalaurë’s older brother.

He heard someone make a quiet noise, not quite a sob.Someone pressed a hand to his mouth. _Quiet, don’t disturb them._

For an instant, the whole scene seemed to shift and slew round, and he was sideways, and it was not the red of Nelyo’s hair streaming down but—

Makalaurë clutched at the branch and shut his eyes, trying to breathe in and out.It was difficult, but he managed, eventually.He climbed back across to his own room; when he reached it, his heart was pounding and his blood rushing in his ears.He pressed a hand across his chest and tried to ignore that somehow, impossibly, he was hard.

When, hours later, he woke from dreams of the sea, he lay in his own bed, awake, staring at the ceiling until silver bled into gold, painting his room with airy light.

* * *

_F.A. 5, the Nolofinwëan encampment._

“How is he?” Findekáno—no, Fingon—demanded.The only reason he had not slammed the door open in his haste was his fear of waking poor Russo.Makalaurë—Maglor looked up from his vigil beside his brother’s bed, white-faced and white-lipped.There were huge, dark shadows under his eyes.

“He woke once, called your name, and fell asleep again.Then he woke and—” Maglor swallowed, closed his eyes, and opened them.“Asked me to kill him.”

Fingon thought he felt his heart stop.He was at the bedside before he realized he had even taken a step into the room.“Was he…lucid?”

Maglor shook his head.When Fingon had last seen him, he had been every inch the High King, and it had made Fingon want to rage at him and scream at him, curse him for abandoning his brother—for abandoning his _family_.But now all he could see was worn, mute terror on the face of the Káno he had once known.

“I don’t know,” Maglor told him wearily.“Not for all of it, certainly.”His lips twisted.“He called me Þauron.”The lilted Quenya sat at odds with the rest of his speech.

“Ai, Russo,” Fingon said numbly.He reached out and took his cousin’s hand and pressed it to his mouth before even thinking about how it would look.Maglor, however, did not appear surprised in the least.

“Shall I leave you with him?” he asked, turning his gaze to the side.

Fingon shook his head jerkily.“I—I do not think I can bear the silence,” he said.“What do the healers tell you?”

“Less than they tell you, I imagine,” Maglor told him dryly.“I am here on sufferance.”A queer little smile hovered at the corners of his mouth.“No longer the High King.”

“I do not think your welcome would be any warmer if you were,” Fingon pointed out, and Maglor sighed and shook his head.

“No,” he agreed.Then, in a low voice, “Finno.Thank you.For doing what I could not.”

“I could never have done anything else.”Fingon laughed, though it was a painful laugh, sending pain pricking through his chest like little shards of glass.“Leave Russo?Are you mad?”Then, as the pain flared in his cousin’s eyes, “Oh, Káno, I did not mean it like that.”

Maglor shook his head.“You saved him,” he said softly.“And—I do not know if you know.He—he fought for you at Losgar.He told Atar to stop.”He looked away.“None of the rest of us did, just as none of the rest of us brought him back.”He pushed a smile onto his lips, though it did not really reach his eyes.“He has always been the best of us, hasn’t he?”

“Yes,” Fingon agreed, kissing Russo’s knuckles again and gently laying his hand upon the cover.He sat on the bed, on the side near Maglor’s chair, careful not to disturb Russandol.Then, addressing the looming tension in the room, “I _am_ angry with you.For leaving him.But I don’t _blame_ you.”

Maglor gave a high little laugh.“And for leaving _you_?No—” he raised his hand.“Please.I’m more sorry than I can say for everything that has happened since—” he swallowed, “—since our grandfather’s death.But it doesn’t matter, does it?I can’t change any of it.I can beg your forgiveness very prettily, but that’s not what you want or what you need.”

Fingon wanted to shake him and hug him at the same time.“Stop it, Makalaurë.”

“That isn’t my name,” Maglor said bitterly.“It hasn’t been my name in thirty years.”

“Stop it, _brat_.”

That got a startled laugh.

“Come on,” Fingon told him.“Whatever we’ve—we’ve both done—” and, _oh_ , how he did not want to think of the dark of Alqualondë, and the dark stain upon his silver blade, of the mute horror he had seen in Maitimo’s eyes, _pleading_ for something, perhaps as simple as a plea to _wake up_ — “whatever we’ve done, we’re both in this together now.We both want him to wake up.”

He got a small smile.Maglor’s shoulders slumped, and he nodded.“I haven’t been sleeping well,” he admitted.“I’m sure you haven’t either.”Then, with a quick, jerky motion that suggested impulsiveness, he reached out and grabbed Fingon’s hand, entwining their fingers.

“I haven’t,” Fingon agreed, squeezing.“And whatever else you’ve done or haven’t done, Maglor, you came without hesitation as soon as we told you.”

“I mean.Of course,” Maglor said simply.“I…” his mouth twisted to the side.“I’d do anything for him.Even if it meant l-leaving him, because that was the order he gave me before he rode out.”

Fingon winced.“Ai, _Káno_ ,” he breathed, the events of the past weeks knitting together into a very different picture, one that showed him all too clearly the thread that connected Russo’s sweet songbird brother who used to ride with them in Valinor and the hunched near-stranger whose hand he was holding so tightly his knuckles felt bruised.

“Oh, come here,” he said, after a moment, studying Maglor’s faintly pleading expression.“You aren’t the only one who wants to be held, and my brothers—my brother is not much good for it.We might as well comfort one another.”

For a moment, he thought Maglor would refuse, but then he smiled shakily and got up to put his arms around Fingon.He was quite a bit smaller than Maedhros; his weight felt light in Fingon’s lap, but reassuring.Fingon buried his face in Maglor’s shoulder, feeling his cousin’s heartbeat against his chest.Maedhros would wake up, and when he did, they would both be waiting for him.


	2. the promises i've made, i continue to break them

_F. A. 506.Doriath._

Celegorm was dead.Curufin was dead.Caranthir was dead.Maedhros’s hand was blue with cold.His breath steamed in the air, the way the blood had.It had cooled all too quickly.

Celegorm was dead.Curufin was dead.Caranthir was dead.Who else?His head felt as if it would split in half.He hadn’t wanted to come here.He had tried everything he could think of, and it had not been enough.Nothing he did was ever enough.Three of his brothers accounted for.Two children missing.Three of his brothers—where?The twins and Maglor?

The last he had seen of Maglor, he had been fighting with his back to the wall, his voice near screaming in its intensity.Dior’s folk had gone to their knees, their hands clasped over their ears, blood leaking between their fingers.The glass in all the windows of the hallway had shattered, but Maglor had sung on. 

He tried to triage, in his head.The children were missing.They might not yet be dead.They could be helpless or lost in the forest.The remaining three brothers were either dead, in which case they were beyond his help— _no, no, please, no, don’t leave me all alone, not again—_ or they were living, in which case they could probably fend for themselves.The children, then.He _must_ find the children.If he could not find them, how could he ever face Fingon again?

He did not know how long he searched, following trail after trail of disturbed marks in the undergrowth, finding more blood.More bodies.There was no sign of the children, no matter how hard he looked.They must be somewhere.They must.

But still he found nothing.

He would, though, he told himself.They could not be far.It was only that he was having to search in circles outward.It was only that he was alone.It was slow going.But surely he would find them by nightfall, at the latest.

There were voices calling his name.He was looking out at the setting sun.Cold vapor was rising, and the land was a deep crimson.He blinked, slowly.It had not been so cold a moment ago, surely?It had not been so late?Was he losing time again?It had been years since the last episode, and now—oh, not _now_ , surely—

“ _Nelyo_!”Maglor burst into the clearing, the Ambarussa just behind.“Nelyo, thank the stars, I thought—we thought—” His chest was heaving, the fear so stark on his face.“Nelyo,” he choked.“Tyelko and Moryo and Curvo—”

“I know.” Maedhros cut him off savagely.“The children—have you found the children?”

“The children?” Maglor echoed.

“Dior’s children.Two boys.I—”He shook his head, pressing his hand to his forehead, fearful he had forgotten the names, but he found them after only a moment’s concentration.“Eluréd and Elurín.Celegorm’s men took them off into the forest—we must find them.”

He watched as his three brothers exchanged looks.It was Amrod, face cold and blank, who spoke.“We must get away from here.Our folk are injured and need care.”

“No.”Maedhros shook his head.“I must find the children.”

“Nelyo.”It was Maglor who stepped forward, the only one of his brothers who had never flinched from him, no matter what.Stupid, fearless brat.That was one thing he had in common with Fingon, Maedhros thought bitterly, but at least, despite everything, _Maglor_ still lived.“You cannot keep searching.It is nearly dark.”

“Am I the commander here or not?” Maedhros asked him, his voice cold and firm.

“I’m not sure there’s much left to command,” Amras put in, laughing with a brittle mirth.

Maglor took Maedhros’s arm.“Don’t be stupid,” he said under his voice.“If you think it’s cold now, wait until the sun is down.You know this.Maedhros, please.”

“Think of thy _debts,_ Makalaurë!” roared Maedhros.Maglor did _not_ flinch; his eyes blazed, his lips thinning in some kind of rage or sorrow.

“Fine,” he snapped.“Ambarussa—you are in command.See to the retreat.You’re both competent enough.I will remain with our older brother to search for the children.”

“Are you both turned in the head?” Amras again, but at the fierce glare that Maglor shot him he shrugged.“Very well.Have your little field trip.If you don’t return, I suppose we’ll be the only ones left to fulfill the Oath.But if that’s what you want—”

“We’ll return,” Maglor said coolly.“Go.Now.”The twins exchanged glances again and then faded away into the woods together.Maglor picked his way grimly over to Maedhros, his motions stiff and cautious.

“Well?” he said.“Lead the way, brother.”

There was no trail.If it had not been for the fact he still knew the direction his brothers had come from, Maedhros was not even certain he would have known the way back to the settlement.He turned in a half-circle, trying to figure out where he had already searched.

“Trouble?” Maglor asked him innocently.

“No,” he snarled automatically, picked a direction, and began walking.He knew his stride was overlong and forced his younger brother to half-run to keep up, but it was he who had decided to come.Maedhros had not forced him. 

They had been making their way through the forest for perhaps ten or fifteen minutes longer, with no sign of life, when there was a crunching of leaves and the thud of a body, and Maedhros looked back to see that Maglor was lying on the ground where he had fallen.

“ _Káno_!”

For an instant, he did not know where he was.There was darkness threatening at the edges of his vision.The wind shrieked in his ear, and he heard Sauron’s high, wild laughter, felt the iron band about his wrist. _All thy brothers will die for thee, Maitimo, for thou hast left them, betrayed them.My master is ever so pleased._

He was at Maglor’s side, grasping his hand, shaking his shoulder, repeating his name over and over in urgent tones.His brother stirred slowly—not dead, thank _Eru_ , not dead—and groaned.

“What’s wrong?” Maedhros demanded, already checking him over and pausing when he found that red blood was seeping through Maglor’s tunic near his thigh.

“I seem to have popped some stitches,” Maglor told him, sounding wry and weary.“The Ambarussa will not be pleased.”

“You’re injured.”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Perhaps in the middle of the pitched sword battle we were just fighting?You tell me.”

Maedhros’s chest throbbed with rage and pain.“You knew this would happen!Are you forcing me to choose between your life and the lives of two innocent children?”

The look on Maglor’s face was haggard, and he shook his head.“Nelyo, you’ve been out here for hours.The temperature has been dropping the whole time.They were not dressed for the outdoors. Either someone found them—someone better than us—or—”

Pain clawed at Maedhros’s throat.“I hate thee,” he hissed, the words dropping out before he could stop them. 

Maglor did not flinch.“I know,” he said wearily.“So, shall we go back, or shall I bleed out here?Perhaps that would be fitting.”

This time, Maedhros did not answer verbally.He shut his eyes, sighed, and then lifted his younger brother into his arms in a bridal-style carry.“Thou hast become quite the _leader_ , Káno,” he sneered, as he turned back in the direction of their encampment.

Maglor regarded him almost serenely.“You forget that I was High King for thirty years.Longer than you were, brother.”

Maedhros carried him the rest of the way in silence.

* * *

Everyone was supposed to look more innocent when they were sleeping, weren’t they?So all the songs and stories told Maedhros.Maglor didn’t.With his limpid eyes shut and his expression of carefully cultivated sincerity gone, he looked furtive and secretive.Maedhros sighed and sat down beside the pallet.Maglor’s eyes fluttered open. 

“The retreat is going well,” Maedhros told him tonelessly.

“Am I supposed to tell you that you were right?” Maglor asked.“You were.I won’t beg your pardon for making you stop searching before you froze to death.For everything else—”

Maedhros laughed bitterly.“We are monsters, brother—do monsters beg their brothers’ pardon?” 

At least Maglor was left to him.He did not deserve it—especially because of the small voice that whispered he would rather have Maglor than all the other five.What kind of brother _was_ he?What kind of terrible math was this he was performing in his head?

Maglor reached out and took his hand, interlacing their fingers.“I have been a monster for longer than you have ever thought of it, Nelyo, and I have begged your pardon many times.You are the best of us.”

“Enough of your honeyed words, songbird.”But he closed his hand around Maglor’s.

“This time I am not sugarcoating anything.”Maglor sounded rough and queer.“What could I be hoping to gain anymore, Nelyo?”But he would not meet Maedhros’s eyes.

“You’ll have to tell me that, little brother.”

A soft little laugh.“If I tell you, then you’ll leave me, and I can’t—”

“No,” Maedhros cut him off.“Never.”

Maglor’s gaze fluttered off sideways and back to him.“I suppose if you do, I deserve it anyway.I should have helped you against the others in arguing against Doriath.Again I’ve failed you.”He rolled up on his elbow and pressed his lips to Maedhros’s.

It was a quick kiss, almost a chaste one.Under other circumstances, Maedhros might have thought it only an expression of affection, but given the conversation thus far, his brother’s intention was only too clear.As he pulled back, Maglor gave him a soft, bitter little smile, triumphant in a hollow sort of way.

“Don’t you dare,” Maedhros told him and smiled grimly as genuine surprise blossomed on Maglor’s face.“Don’t act as if you’re not the most important thing left in my world, brat.”He hadn’t known he was going to, but his stump was caressing Maglor’s cheekbone as his hand reached out to tangle in Maglor’s hair, tip his face up, and return the kiss.

This kiss was not remotely chaste.It was harsh and biting, and Maedhros had not known that his tongue in his brother’s mouth would cause him to harden, Fingon’s occasional jokes notwithstanding.Maglor moaned into his mouth, and his hands scrabbled at Maedhros’s shoulders.Maedhros let himself be pulled down until they were slotted against one another, chest to chest, and he could feel his little brother’s erection against his own.

Maglor yelped with pain, but caught at him when he tried to pull back.

“You’re injured,” Maedhros told him helplessly.

“I don’t care—I don’t care,” Maglor gasped wildly.“Don’t leave me like this, Nelyo, don’t _leave_ me!”

“All right.All right.Hush, hush.”He petted Maglor’s hair until his little brother’s chest stopped heaving with panic, and then he kissed him again, deeper and longer, as Maglor whined and hitched his hips against him.Maedhros slipped his hand between them, pulling their garments swiftly aside, and Maglor wept and murmured his name as they rutted against one another.

Afterwards, he lay beside his little brother and petted his hair again and kissed him gently.Maglor was clearly exhausted with everything that had happened.“I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“What need is there for apologies?” Maedhros asked him, gently, dreamily.

“I know I’m not the one you want.”

He did not know how that made him feel.It seemed he had burned through the last of his feelings and now everything was a faint distant numbness.“Well,” he said, vaguely, feeling as if there was something wrong with the response but not quite certain, anymore, why, “It’s not as if he’d want me anymore anyway.”


	3. we will overcome the apathy that has made us

_T.A. 909. En route to Lórien._

The clash of steel on steel broke the silence of the winter night.A moment ago, the group of Elves from Imladris had been laughing and joking together, quite loudly—too loudly, Maglor thought grimly as the Orcs came upon them.No time to worry, though—he needed to keep his son’s wife safe, and that meant focusing.

His voice rose high and clear into the chill night air.Celebrían’s sword flashed in the moonlight.Before both of them, the Orcs fell back apace.One fell to an expert sword stroke, a second with blood pouring from his eyes and mouth.Maglor thought he should not thrill to battle, but the wind slapped cheerfully at his cheeks, and he knew his eyes must be sparkling.He felt wild and untamed, a fey battlefield excitement running through him.

Then Celebrían glanced sideways, flicking her silver hair out of her face, and her eyes widened.Something caught at Maglor’s hair, and he felt a thin line of pain drawn across the front of his throat.His song stopped, abruptly, and he heard only a hideous bubbling sound.

He was on his knees, on the snow.Dark hands caught at Celebrían, and he heard her screaming.“ _Maglor_!”

_No,_ he tried to say, _you must not call me that_ , but the words did not come.Celebrían’s face blurred before his eyes, and her scream seemed to stop, cut off, drowned beneath a thunderous pounding in his head.He looked down.There was a torrent of red upon the white snow.

There was red upon the white—

* * *

_???_

The wind whistled mournfully, and the sea-gulls cried.A familiar high sweet song blended with the soughing of the wind, but not so deftly that Fingon could not trace it to its source.The slim, dark-haired form was into the surf nearly up to his thighs, his blue robe caught and ruffled by both tide and wind.

Hope surged in Fingon’s chest, wild and warm.“Káno!” he called, running towards him.His bare feet left indentations in the wet sand.

When Maglor looked up, his gaze was distant, but the next moment, he was blinking in shock.“ _Finno_?”

“Hah—” Fingon panted, putting his hands on his knees.“A moment.”He felt that it was unfair he could still feel as if he’d run too hard when he was dead and had been for centuries.

“How…?” Maglor looked around.“Have I truly gone mad now?”He pressed a hand to his throat.

“No, you’re just dead.”

“ _What?_ ”He took a step back, nearly falling.Fingon reached out and caught him before he could sit down in the wet sand.“This isn’t the Void, surely…?But…” He ran his hand down his throat.“Oh.Oh, I thought it was a dream.”

“I need your help,” Fingon told him.“You’re the first one I’ve been able to get to, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Námo kicks me out if he realizes I’ve found you.”

“Of the … shore?”

“Of the Halls.He’s been trying for at least a hundred years.”

Maglor took a deep breath, looking at Fingon, and then he burst into tears and flung himself into Fingon’s arms.“Ah,” Fingon said, pulling him close and stroking the top of his head.“I suppose I did skip the reunion, didn’t I?”His heart ached, because he _had_ missed Maglor, but for so long now, he had been focused on one, over-riding, overarching _need_.And that—wasn’t entirely fair, was it?He took a breath, rubbing soothing circles across Maglor’s back.They were not so pressed for time as all that.He had waited for millennia; he could wait a little longer if need be.

“Well met, little cousin,” he murmured.

“I’m sorry,” Maglor told him.“For all the things I have done—all the things I let him do.We were mad, Finno, we—” he sighed.“We did one good thing,” he said quietly.“And I want you to know he never took your ribbons off his arm.You were the best thing left in his life.In our lives.Except for our boys.”

A tight knot in his chest that Fingon had been studiously ignoring unwound a little at that.They had not been wholly lost, then.He had not thought so—but hearing confirmation of it warmed him from his chest to his toes.“Thank you, Káno,” he murmured.“I am glad to hear it.”

Maglor’s eyes went to his face, and the look on his face was somewhere between agonized, and—oddly—the look he had worn as a child when he had stolen one of Fingon’s harps and dropped it, cracking the soundboard.“How much do you know?” he asked abruptly.

Fingon clasped his hands.“Enough to agree that you were mad.How many did you kill, Káno?”

“Too many,” Maglor said.“But that is—not what I was asking about, cousin.”

“What, then?”

Maglor’s eyes dropped.“I am not the brother who should be coming with you to help find him.”

“How can you say that?” Fingon demanded impatiently.“You were ever closest to him.”

“Yes,” Maglor agreed.“But never so close as you were, until—until you were not there anymore.”

It took him a moment to understand the fear and pain lurking in his cousin’s gaze.“You mean,” he said, slowly.“That you and he…”

“It wasn’t Nelyo’s fault?” Maglor said in a high, wavering voice.He pulled away, half turning.“He was grieving.I was afraid he would leave.I—I have always—” There was a naked longing in his voice.“We were both grieving,” he said, finally, and his voice had a sorrowful but truthful timbre.When he turned back, he had commanded himself, and his face was calm.“Please forgive him for taking his pleasure in a facsimile, when he had nothing else for so long.”

The thought of Maedhros using his little brother in such a way made Fingon’s gorge rise, but—something didn’t sit quite right.Something about the way he said it made Fingon tilt his head and remember a few conversations with Russo in Valinor.“Káno,” he said, slipping into his most commanding voice.“Tell me about thy couplings.”

“Wh-What?” Maglor’s hands had started twisting together, but now he paused and looked up at Fingon.“Why would you want to—”

“Am I not the injured party?Tell me.”

There was a pause, and then Maglor heaved a sigh.“As you wish.The first time he took me was in the aftermath of Doriath—”

“And when you say _he_ took _you_?”

“From behind so he did not need to see my face.”

“And the other times?”

“Usually similar, I suppose we got into the habit—” 

Fingon couldn’t help it.He started laughing.Maglor stared at him as if he were insane.“I’m sorry,” Fingon choked.“Oh, dear.Oh, Káno, dear, stupid Káno—”

“What?What are you—”

“ _Never_ ,” Fingon got out breathlessly—and, oh, how _typical_ of both of them, the fools, the sweet fools, _his_ sweet fools, still, even in spite of all they had done, “Never but once in our lives did Maedhros take me, rather than the other way around.”

“ _What_?”Maglor took a step backward.“But—but he—”

“Did he call you by my name?Did he do aught to suggest that he thought of you as any other than you are?”

“N-No, not—as such, but I thought—”

“He is a foot taller than you are, and I know he takes his pleasure often in such a position.He probably thought you would like it too.”

Maglor stared at him.“That’s not possible,” he said weakly.

“Did you ever ask him?”

“…No.”

Fingon giggled again and shook his head.“You little idiot,” he said fondly.

“I am a year your senior!”

“And three quarters of an inch shorter.”

That drew a laugh out of Maglor in turn, but he sobered quickly.“But—if Maedhros really did—I don’t understand.”

Taking him by the shoulder, Fingon murmured in his ear, “We saw you watching us in Valinor.”

“ _What_.”

Fingon sighed.“Much would have been different, perhaps, if we had spoken to you about it.But we did not know how to go against the Valar, then.”He remembered Maitimo going still beneath him, glancing over his shoulder, and starting to sit up, remembered glancing back just in time to catch a glimpse of fleeing black hair and blue robes.They had lain together for hours, talking it out.In the end, they had let it lie.Makalaurë was Maitimo’s brother; worse, an Elf could not love more than once for all time.

Look what had happened the last time.

Maglor’s chest was heaving again, and he pressed himself hard against Fingon’s front, holding him tightly.Fingon felt both their hearts, in defiance of all logic, fluttering like caged birds.Maglor looked up at him, his eyes clear, like an ocean stilled in the aftermath of a great storm.“Lie with me, Findekáno,” he said.“Lie with me, here, and then we two shall go and fetch our husband back.”

Fingon found himself grinning as he ran his hands down Maglor’s back.“Ai, I’ve missed thee,” he said quietly, and then he kissed him deeply, before he tugged him away from the beating surf and over towards the pale white sand further up the shore.“Let me teach thee something, little cousin,” he said, smirking, as he sat down and pulled Maglor down beside him.

“Stop calling me that!” Maglor pouted—actually _pouted_ —at him, and Fingon broke into a delighted laugh.

“Shall I call thee _brat_ , then, as Maitimo used to?”

“Perhaps,” Maglor murmured, and then he gasped as Fingon nibbled a line of biting kisses down his throat.“What is the lesson you are planning to give me, O wise and noble cousin who is still younger than I am?”

Fingon smacked his outer thigh smartly, and Maglor jumped and gasped, his eyes going wide and dark.He grabbed Maglor’s hair and pulled him forward until Maglor was straddling him, biting his lip and breathing heavily.“The lesson I am planning is this, Káno: if thou _want_ something, then thou wilt have to ask me for it.”

Maglor’s face was expressive; it amused Fingon a great deal.“But what if I do not know _what_ I want?” he said after a moment, batting long lashes at Fingon.

“Then _say that_.”Fingon lay back on the sand, grinning.“But I do not think that is true.”

Tossing his hair angrily, Maglor ground down against him, and he gasped.“Well, what if what I want is for you to tell me what to do?So that I may have the pleasure of _not_ doing it?”His eyes flicked off to the side.“And then I suppose you might have to smack me like that again.Several times.”

Fingon drew in a delightfully harsh breath at the thought, and Maglor went a little bit still.

“But,” he said quietly, “but if _you_ don’t want it, I’d rather you didn—”

“Oh, for—”Fingon rolled over and grabbed him in a headlock.Maglor squawked, and the next moment the two of them were tussling all across the sand as they had once or twice when they were small.Maglor was laughing breathlessly by the time Fingon managed to haul him over his lap and smack him again, sharply.“ _That’s_ for being stupid, brat.”

Maglor hissed and groaned.“I shall have to be stupid again,” he managed.“Because I—I want—I want more.”

“Oh, thou hast been plenty stupid,” Fingon told him, pulling aside his clothing as Maglor writhed and pretended to struggle.“Thou hast already confessed to a _great deal_ of stupidity, hast thou not?”He spanked Maglor properly this time, bare hand against bare flesh, and Maglor cursed and yelled.

“All right?” Fingon breathed in his ear.

“Don’t—stop—” Maglor begged.

“Was that ‘don’t, stop’ or ‘don’t stop’?” Fingon breathed in his ear, and Maglor looked up with dark, dilated eyes, and he was drooling slightly.

“ _Finno_!” he wailed, and Fingon took pity on him, delivering another stinging slap, then another and another.He noticed, intriguingly, that he was hard and so—if what was pressing into Fingon’s thigh was any indication—was Maglor.

“How many do you want, brat?”

“H-How many—do I—deserve?” panted Maglor, rutting against his leg now.

“Up to you,” Fingon told him cheerfully, kissing the top of his head.“You have to ask for what you want.”

Maglor looked up at him, his face flushed, eyes dilated, lips a gorgeous red, and Fingon shivered as his cock twitched eagerly in answer.

“All right,” he said, in a voice that only wobbled slightly.“I want you to hit me _at least_ five more times.And then I want you to be inside me, and I want to be in your lap while you are, and I want to be looking at you.”

“Was that so hard, brat?” Fingon asked him.

“Dreadfully,” Maglor nodded.“Almost as hard as you.” 

Fingon laughed joyfully at that, then put one hand on Maglor’s head as he spanked him again, sharply.The sound of it rang out across the quiet beach.Maglor cried out, then cried out again as Fingon hit him again.His loud noises shaded into soft gasps and moans with the next few blows.When Fingon stopped, rubbing his hand gently across Maglor’s back, he looked up, dazed.“Finno,” he moaned.“ _Please_.Need more.”

“Up you get,” Fingon told him, rolling him sideways.Maglor went willingly, panting, then climbed into his lap. “No, hold on, I need to get my clothes off, Káno.”

Maglor whimpered but pulled back and went to sit, probably to wait as he’d been instructed.He made a shocked noise, and Fingon smiled at his cousin’s full-body shudder.“You may have a little trouble sitting down,” he murmured.

“Bastard,” Maglor muttered.

“You requested it.”

“You’re still a bastard.”

Fingon smirked at him and took the opportunity to remove his trousers and undergarments.The tunic he kept for protection against the sand.Trust Maglor’s mindscape not to be somewhere convenient, like a bedroom.Or indoors at all.Ah, well.He held out his hands towards Maglor, who took them and resettled himself. 

“I suppose I had better—” Maglor put two fingers in his mouth, sucking on them, and _oh_ —he looked debauched like that, wild, untamed.Not the gilded songbird from Valinor, nor the High King Fingon had glimpsed so briefly, nor even his brother’s horsemaster, but something _different_.Or perhaps all of them at once and more.It took Fingon’s breath away.

Trembling slightly, Maglor pressed his spit-slick fingers into himself, panting and moaning.“ _Káno_ ,” Fingon gasped.“I would have—”

“You said I should do as I liked,” Maglor gasped.“Without anything else, it’s easiest th-this way.”Writhing on his own fingers, this close, the heat of him was a bonfire in Fingon’s lap, and he could do nothing but watch and want.

“All right.”He steadied himself on with Fingon’s shoulders.“I am not used to this position.Can you—”

Fingon steadied his hips and guided him forward and down, biting back a moan as Maglor slowly sank down onto him.God, he was hot—slicker than he probably should have been, but the metaphysics of this were a little beyond Fingon.At least they were still on the beach, although he noticed with interest that the pale white curls of fog seemed to have retreated in favor of blue skies, white clouds and a very active surf indeed.The waves crashed loudly on the shore as Fingon groaned and thrust up into Maglor.

Maglor sobbed, with pain or pleasure Fingon did not know—perhaps both.Probably both.Fingon himself bit down on his lip, breathed for a moment, and then started up a vigorous pace.Maglor’s head tipped back, and he gasped, the red flush that already stained his cheeks leaking downwards to dot across his slim chest.He slipped a hand between his legs and began to stroke himself, and Fingon felt his rhythm stutter at the sight.

“ _Káno_ ,” he breathed.He wanted to shut his eyes, but he didn’t want to miss a moment of the sight of Maglor coming apart around him in sighs and gasps, his normally pristine beauty only heightened by the look of uncontrolled rapture on his face and the slow beading of sweat on his forehead and chest.

Maglor made a soft little mewling noise, and then he was coming, tightening around Fingon in a way that made stars burst in front of his eyes.He grunted, rolling them both over so he could get a better angle.Maglor’s eyes snapped open, and he laughed as Fingon thrust into him hard another few times before groaning and shuddering through his own completion.

He slumped across Maglor’s form, kissing both his eyes and then the tips of his ears.Maglor sighed and giggled.

“Well,” he said.“Now that I have been thoroughly punished for my misdeeds, perhaps it is time to see about reclaiming the one we both long for.”


	4. we are not alone in the dark with our demons

Two Elves stood hand in hand at the end of a winding road, looking up at a great, sprawling fortress.The architecture of it was not particularly consistent: red sandstone walls merged into thick, grey stone.A red pennant fluttered from one high tower, while a squat guard station occupied the other side of the battlement.

“I saw this once,” murmured one of the Elves.“In a dream, I think.You have not been able to enter?”

The other shook his head.“No matter how I try, I cannot find a way in.”

_That is because it is not for you to rescue the prisoner_ , said the hollow voice of the judge.The Elves did not hear it, for it was not necessary that they should.They would tire of this game eventually.

_And do_ you _never tire of this, brother?_ asked a soft voice.The judge in his black robes turned to see a dark-haired figure clad in colorful swatches of cloth that seemed to melt into the ground.

_This is my calling_ , the judge replied sternly. _What are you doing here?_

A little smile and a tilt of the head.The dark hair shimmered and became crimson. _Perhaps I am here because of my own calling.Too long have I idled and watched the dreams of the Elves shatter and crack beneath the vise of our too-harsh rules._ Pain flittered through iridescent eyes.

“Follow me, Finno.We may as well try what I remember from my dream.”

“It certainly can’t hurt.” 

The Elf with braids in his hair followed the second sideways around the fortress to a vast, ivy-covered wall.They halted perhaps three quarters of the way along it.“Sing, Finno.”

“Me?But you are—”

“ _Sing_.”

_What game are you playing, brother?_ thundered the judge. _He is not to be freed! More than ever now, for there cannot be three living and bound, and Findekáno son of Nolofinwë has chosen._

_Yes, he has,_ agreed the other figure implacably. _He has chosen as he chose many years ago in Valinor, as Maitimo son of Fëanáro chose with him.In their dreams, they reached for one another and a third.It was not their dreams that stopped them._

_This is madness!_

Fingon raised his harp and sang, a sweet, cheerful little song that he had sung long ago in Valinor, serenading his cousin beneath his window.As the second verse began, a second voice, hoarse and cracked, was raised in answer.Maglor grabbed his cousin’s hand.“Keep singing,” he said, urgently, and he pressed a hand against the ivy and pushed forward in the direction of the answering song.

_Dreams are a sweet madness, brother dear._

The ivy sprouted thorns, boiling up out of the ground into a wall of great brambles.Maglor drew his sword grimly.Fingon’s song rose sharply, and Maglor opened his mouth and joined him, even as he began to slice at the waving wall of spines trying to keep them back.Together, their song rose swelling and beautiful, recalling lush lazy days long ago in Valinor.Days by the river, fishing, singing, or simply being with one another.The high blue sky arching overhead.Days before the death of Finwë, before the burning of the ships at Losgar, when the darkness was small and painful, but not overarching and overwhelming.

Flowers bloomed amidst the thorns, and a pointed archway formed before the two cousins.

The judge stood before them, his brother beside them.

“Why dost thou trespass here?” Námo asked sternly.

“We have come for our husband,” Maglor replied sternly, gesturing to Fingon to keep singing.He did, and the other song continued along with him.

“Thy brother cannot be thy husband, Kanafinwë.Nor canst three be one.”

“I am not Kanafinwë any longer,” Maglor told him simply.“I am Maglor Fëanorion.My husbands are Fingon the Valiant and Maedhros One-handed, and we passed long ago beyond the laws of the Valar.”

“And now thou hast returned.Go back.”

“We will not.”His eyes flickered to the judge’s brother.“Dreaming of becoming more than we are would not be much use if we could never attain it.What would be the use of dreams, then?”

Irmo smiled.“Dreams break boundaries and laws.I loved thy father, Maglor Fëanorion.Brother mine, I ask you again: stand aside.A world that does not change will die, and I do not think you wish to be in command of the entire world.”

Námo looked at all three of them in bafflement.Fingon continued to sing, tears streaming down his cheeks, and from within, the hoarse voice did not abate.“He is not ready to leave,” Námo said, finally.“He is not healed.”

“And he will not, without living,” Maglor said, gently.“I would not have healed at all if I had come directly to these Halls.”

“I could send both of thee back.”

“And we would come back again and again,” Maglor retorted, eyes shining.“Besides, you have not been able to force Fingon out yet.What makes you think you can now?”

Irmo laughed delightedly, and Námo frowned, then shrugged helplessly.“Upon _your_ head be it,” he said to his brother.“And do not come to me if you do not find him to your liking.”In the space of a blink, he had vanished.Irmo lingered long enough to run a hand along Maglor’s cheek and wink, and then he was gone as well.

Maglor looked at Fingon, and he began to sing as well.Then, hands clasped, they went towards the answering song.

* * *

_After the Fourth Age, Valinor._

The sky was high and arched and blue.Maedhros smelled crushed grass.His back was damp and cold, his mind a blurred smear of flame and grief and thorns.His left hand and right wrist were warm.With a groan and a sigh, he turned his head to the left and found that Fingon was looking back at him, a tender smile upon his face. 

“Finno,” Maedhros breathed, and he rolled sideways so that he could touch.“Is—is it really—art thou really—”

There were tears starting in Fingon’s dark eyes as he slowly cupped Maedhros’s face between his hands.“It has been a long time, beloved, has it not?”

Maedhros trembled, pressing their foreheads together and mingling their breath.“ _How_?” he whispered. 

There was a rustling on his other side, a familiar soft _I-don’t-want-to-be-awake_ noise.

“Well,” Fingon said, with a brilliant smile, and Maedhros looked over to see Maglor sitting up, quite unashamedly naked. There was a thick ridged white scar across his throat Maedhros had never seen before. Maedhros realized he and Fingon were naked as well.“It’s a complicated tale, Russo.But the end result is that we have returned from the Halls of Mandos together.”

“It’s not possible,” Maedhros said blankly.“The Oath—the Void.”

“I think,” Maglor said softly, “that it was the adoption of Elrond and Elros that ended the Oath.We regained two of the Silmarils and the third was with their kin—who was our kin.”He gave Maedhros a smile that Maedhros had not seen on his little brother’s face since the ships burned, breathtaking and beautiful.“So it was love that saved us, in the end.”He rubbed tears from his eyes.“I hope he does not grieve too deeply,” he murmured.“I hope Celebrían—well.I did what I could.”

Maedhros shook his head wonderingly.“The two of you—have done—more than I could ever have dreamed.”

Fingon chuckled.“Well,” he said.“Yes, that’s very true.We have some things we need to discuss.”

Maglor got up on his knees and reached towards Maedhros with a strange look in his eyes.“Nelyo,” he said breathlessly.“When we—the two of us—was it only Finno you thought of?”

“Well done, without me even having to threaten you,” Fingon muttered.

Maedhros did not understand this remark, so he chose to ignore it.Besides, there were more pressing matters.“How could you _think_ that?” he demanded.“I wouldn’t use you like that, Káno.I have done many terrible things in my life, and I pushed you into something I’m sure you didn’t want, but I would not—not—”

Maglor scooted forward on his knees until he could lay his head against Maedhros’s arm.“I did want it,” he said softly.“I do want it.”

Maedhros looked from him to Fingon and back.So this was what a heart breaking in half felt like.

“No, no, you misunderstand, Russo,” Fingon said soothingly.“Káno and I have already talked.We wouldn’t have you choose.Remember what we spoke of many ages ago in Valinor?”

He had forgotten, but now he remembered.Fingon’s expression was open, clear and happy. 

“Surely that isn’t possible,” Maedhros said, and Fingon and Maglor exchanged glances.

“It’s possible if you want it, Nelyo,” Maglor said, in a low voice.“Fingon and I—well, we have had this thing all three ways round, and all that remains is—together.If you want it.”

“We could also keep it as three lines,” Fingon said cheerfully.“Or an angle, if you simply cannot bear the thought of your brother and your cousin—”

“Don’t be foolish!” Maedhros snapped.He took a long, heavy, shuddering breath, and reached out with his stump blindly towards Maglor.“Together?” he said thickly, through the lump in his throat.“I—I know I don’t deserve such a thing, but—”

Fingon snorted.“Think less of deserve and more of desire, unless thou wouldst have me put thee over my knee as I did Káno.”

Maedhros glanced over at Maglor and saw that the tips of his ears were burning furiously red.He felt as if he had woken from an impossibly long slumber to the dawn of a new day.“Now that—is something I would _desire_ to see,” he murmured.

Fingon grinned wolfishly.“That can be arranged.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to Kalendeer’s fics for making me think about Irmo and his relationship to Fëanor


	5. it is the rain that will strengthen your soul (and it will make you whole)

_One year later, Valinor._

The wind caught in the door and whisked it out of Maedhros’s fingers, slamming it open as he walked in.He winced at the noise and drew his cloak from his shoulders as he stepped inside, shaking off the melting snow in the doorway. 

Fingon barrelled out of the inner hallway, his hair scandalously half-braided, his face flushed.“Russo!You’re early!”

“Let me get the damn door shut,” Maedhros grumbled, stamping his boots to remove the snow.“Yes, Oromë arrived, and he and Tyelko got very distracted from building the main cabin, and I decided that I didn’t want to see my little brother getting—”

“Are you _sure_ about that?” Maglor’s silken voice asked.He followed Fingon demurely into the main room, carrying his traveling harp in one hand and a fluted glass of wine in the other.“Because here was I thinking that you would enjoy the festivities we had planned for this evening, but if you simply can’t endure the notion of someone pinning your little brother to the bed and f—”

“Shut up, brat,” Maedhros told him, finally getting the door closed.“You know I meant Celegorm, not you.”Fingon was at his side, taking his cloak before he could even hang it up.

“I meant to at least have my hair up, so you could take it down,” Fingon said, slightly irritable.“Tyelko constantly ruins my plans.”Maedhros reached out and pulled him close, still almost unable to believe that he was here.Safe.That he _wanted_ Maedhros.He pressed his face into Fingon’s throat, inhaling his scent.

“Take me,” he murmured in Fingon’s ear.“It’s been too long.I need it.”

“Shall I leave you two alone for a little?” Maglor asked.There was a time when the question might have sounded bitter, but now it was nothing more than a request for information.

Maedhros shook his head.“Want you, too,” he mumbled.

“I don’t think thou’rt getting off that easy, brat,” Fingon purred.“Fetch wine for me and Russo, wilt thou, little one?”

“I am a YEAR OLDER—”

“Dost thou prefer ‘little slut’?”

Maglor growled; Maedhros heard his footsteps moving towards the kitchen.Fingon tugged him towards the long, low couch in front of the roaring fire.Maedhros let his husband push him down onto it and kiss him, long and deep and slow.There was no rush.There was nowhere to be.

Snow melted slowly on his lashes, and he blinked moisture out of his eyes.Fingon kissed it away, then nipped at his ear.Maedhros groaned, hitching his hips against Fingon lazily, as Fingon’s hands ran down his outer thighs.

Maglor cleared his throat.“I’ve brought the wine, if you can tear yourselves apart for long enough to enjoy it.”

“Ah, I believe our songbird is feeling neglected,” Fingon said amusedly, sitting up.“Thank you, sweet one.”

He sat up, straddling Maedhros, and took the glasses from Maglor, holding one out to Maedhros, who shook his head.“You’ll have to let me up, or I’ll just spill it.”

“You did ask for wine,” Maglor teased, draining the last of his own glass and setting it on the nearby low table, beside Maedhros’s stack of books.Fingon sighed dramatically, getting up so that Maedhros could sit up. 

“A choice which I now regret.”

“I suppose you will simply have to drink it quickly.” 

Maedhros sipped at his.“And ruin a perfectly good wine?” he asked.Maglor sat beside him, his slim fingers sliding down Maedhros’s inner thigh.Maedhros nearly choked on his wine.“ _Káno_.Stop that.”He slapped Maglor’s hand away. 

Maglor smirked.“Am I to be punished, Russo?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”The banter came so easily now.Thinking about that made him feel as if he were staring down a great precipice, made the words go thick in his throat with the fear that he could lose this again.He saw Maglor see it, saw the mischief in his eyes turn to concern. 

“Shhhh.”Maedhros covered his face with his hand, and it was Maglor who pulled him close, murmuring words of comfort, but it was Finno’s hand that caressed him in firm, large circles across his back.He breathed in their love until his heart settled, then peeked between his fingers. 

“I’m all right.Thank you.” _Thank you_ had replaced _I’m sorry_ , but it had been a long and difficult road to reach that point.

“Thank _you_.”Fingon licked the cusp of his ear, and Maedhros gave a shuddering groan.“You gave me time to finish my wine.Now—do you know what you want, Russo?For you may have it.”

“I still want you to take me,” Maedhros told Fingon.“As for Káno—well, I want him here, but I am not averse to him deciding the extent of his involvement.”

Maglor put his head on Maedhros’s shoulder.“Where’s the fun in that?” he asked plaintively.“If I didn’t want to be ordered about, why would I still be dallying with my bossy older brother?”

“Our marriage is a _dalliance_ now, is it?” Maedhros asked him.“Very well, for that, I’m putting you over my knee, and then you’re going to kneel for us.”He put a finger under Maglor’s chin.“How does that sound?”

“He’ll have to wait a bit,” Fingon said decisively.“You’re too tall to have in my lap for as long as he’ll need to bring you off.”

Maglor sputtered indignantly.“I will _not_ need—” He gasped, cut off as Maedhros slipped his right arm about Maglor’s waist and yanked him forward so that he was lying across both Fingon’s and Maedhros’s laps. 

“Hold him down, beloved,” Maedhros told Fingon, who put a hand on Maglor’s head and one on the back of his neck, drawing a gasping moan from his throat.“I see you were expecting this, brat,” Maedhros said to Maglor as he rucked up the thin robe, under which Maglor wore nothing else.

Maglor wriggled in his lap, and Maedhros had to pause for a moment at the sensation. Then he asked, “Hand or stump?”Maglor whined, and Maedhros looked over to see that Fingon was scratching his head and the back of his neck.“I suppose it would be too much to ask for a coherent answer,” he said, bringing his hand down heavily onto Maglor’s backside.Maglor squealed and writhed; when Maedhros hit him again, he did it again.After a few more, he was sobbing and moaning, mumbling, “ _please, please_ ,” into Fingon’s leg.

“Thou’llt have to wait, brat,” Fingon murmured.“Let me take care of Maedhros first.”

“Noooo,” Maglor moaned, looking up with a tear-streaked face and lips swollen from biting at them.“Can’t.Not _fair_.”

“Dost thou think thou cannot?” Maedhros asked, running his hand from Maglor’s neck down his back and letting it settle on the handprint he had already left.“Canst thou not do this for us, husband mine?”

Maglor sucked in a shaky breath.“I c-can.If you want me to, Russo.”

“Oh, and what about me?” laughed Finno.“Rude, brat.”

He got two mournful eyes.“I’m sorry,” Maglor murmured sadly, then, as Maedhros frowned in sudden concern, a wicked smile curled at the corners of his mouth, and he laughed, tossing his hair.“All right, all right. _Ai_ , Russo, your hand is harder than Finno’s.”He got up, wincing, and knelt by the couch.“Let me see you two together, then.”

Maedhros breathed a shaky sigh of relief and got up, letting Fingon kiss his neck and pull his clothes off.Maglor helped disrobe him, pressing kisses to his side and thigh. 

“A warm fire is the most wonderful thing on a snowy night.”Fingon sighed with pleasure as he quickly pulled off his own robe and dropped it. “Pick it up and fold it, darling brat.”

“Do it thyself.”

Maedhros twisted his hand in Maglor’s hair.“Káno?For me?”

Those dark eyes glinted.“Yes, Nelyo.”

Arranging himself face-down on the couch, Maedhros looked back at Fingon impatiently.“I think I have been over patient.Finno, please.I want you inside me.”

“When do you ever not?Oil, please, Káno.”

Maglor said, “Ow,” and went over to fetch the oil, coming back to hand it to Fingon with his harp in his other hand.“I shall serenade you until I am allowed to join in once again,” he declared.

“Good luck sitting down for long enough,” Fingon retorted, and Maglor pulled a face.

“O ye of little faith,” he proclaimed.

“ _Please_ stop bickering until your cock is inside me,” Maedhros begged.“Then you may bicker as much as you please.”

“Ai, Russo, I am sorry, I did not mean to be neglectful.”Fingon knelt on the couch behind him, coating himself with the oil that Maglor had given him.“I assume this means you do not feel the need for a lengthy preparation.”

“Have I ever?”

“Sometimes you have suffered it.No, no, I will not continue to make you wait.”He put a hand on Maedhros’s lower back, steadying him as he finally, finally pushed inside.Maedhros gave a broken groan.There was nothing in the world that would ever compare to the feeling of Finno’s cock within him, filling him up.

“Finno,” he breathed, his fingers clutching at the arm of the couch as Fingon began to thrust.The sound of Maglor’s harp rose in a joyful, defiant song.“Like that,” Maedhros groaned.“Like we were never apart at all, love.No.Like—like—”

“Like I love thee?” Fingon suggested breathlessly, still thrusting into him hard enough that Maedhros rocked forward with every motion.

“ _Fin-no—”_

There were tears leaking down his cheeks.Fingon’s cock twitched inside him, and Maedhros had to shut his eyes and concentrate, remembering belatedly he wasn’t to climax yet.It was difficult not to let go of everything, held here, safe in Fingon’s embrace, with Fingon inside him, with Maglor’s high clear voice crying joy and safety and an end to sorrow.

Deserve had nothing to do with it.This was desire.Fingon’s— _still_ —his— _always_ —Maglor’s— _old as memory_.Fingon cried out his name as he pounded into him, his hands tightening on Maedhros’s thighs.

“May I join you now?” Maglor asked, breathlessly.Maedhros looked up to see he had set his harp aside and had his hand now on his erection, breathing hard.

“All right, you’ve been good enough,” Fingon agreed, though he was breathing heavily, in great panting gasps.“Russo, let me move you.”

Maedhros let himself be rolled over, until he was half-sitting in Fingon’s lap at the edge of the thankfully large couch, Fingon still inside him, still stretching him.Maglor knelt between his legs and looked up with wide, trusting eyes, before he leaned forward and took Maedhros in his mouth.

Maedhros cried out, rocking forward into Maglor’s hot, wet mouth and back onto Fingon’s cock.Fingon grunted behind him, and all of them were moving together, almost lazily at first, then with growing urgency.Maglor’s hands ghosted up the insides of Maedhros’s thighs, meeting Fingon’s.Maedhros felt them interlace their fingers on top of him, and it made him sob and curse.

He wanted to come with Fingon inside him—he was close to it, so close—“ _Please_ ,” Maedhros begged.“I need—I need—”

Fingon bit the back of his neck and thrust with precision, striking the perfect spot inside him just as Maglor lathed his tongue along the bottom of his husband’s cock and sucked _hard_ —

Maedhros’s head fell back, and he came hard, thighs shaking, with two names on his lips.In the dim echoing space the moment after, he felt Fingon pulse and spill inside him as well.

He took a moment to get his breath back, then pulled himself up to take the weight off of Fingon—who had a tendency to go sleepy and dopey after sex—and half collapsed onto the couch beside him.Maglor sat up on his knees, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What about me?” he said plaintively.

“Onto the couch with us, brat,” Maedhros told him hoarsely.Fingon mumbled a sleepy echo of the sentiment, drawing his legs up and lying down so his head was in Maedhros’s lap. 

Maglor clambered up onto Maedhros’s other side.“You’ve taken my spot,” he accused Fingon.

“You were too slow,” Fingon told him, and Maglor pouted. 

“I was watching my _husbands_ reach their completions without me.”

“Ai, poor little one, thou art so put upon.”Maedhros drew him close and kissed the top of his head, then slipped his hand between Maglor’s legs and began to stroke him, slow and lazy.Maglor gasped and leaned sideways against him, burying his face in the junction of Maedhros’s shoulder and his throat.He made soft whimpering noises as he writhed, probably rubbing his tender ass against the couch.Maedhros stroked Fingon’s hair and kissed Maglor deeply as he thrust into his fist.He knew it wouldn’t take much longer.

He wasn’t wrong.Maglor bit his neck as he whined and spilled over Maedhros’s hand, then pulled his knees up and leaned against him, making soft, needy noises.Maedhros kissed the top of his head, then the top of Fingon’s and got two sleepy, affectionate murmurs.

The fire burned high and cheerfully in the fireplace.Maedhros drowsed, his hand in Maglor’s hair, the stump of his wrist resting on Fingon’s.The snow fell softly outside the window, blanketing the house they had built together in a cover of silent white.This place—this time.It was theirs alone.

“I dreamed of this in Himring once,” Maglor said sleepily.“Between dreaming of the ocean.I dreamed of quiet snowfall and love all around me.When I woke, I thought—” his breath hitched.“I thought it but a dream.”

“‘Dreams are a sweet madness,’” Fingon murmured, as if he were quoting something, but Maedhros did not know what it could be.

He blinked down at Fingon.“We never did finish braiding your hair,” he laughed.

The other two laughed with him.The snow fell quietly outside.Treading unheard by three Elves on the cusp of sleep, the master of dreams smiled to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> To my recipient: I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> A Final Note: things from dapherunning’s fics/conversations that have made it in here:  
> \- Mae being a slut for Finno’s cock  
> \- Finno practically passing out after sex  
> \- Tyelko getting railed by Oromë


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